


Science Fiction Double Feature

by Kieron_ODuibhir



Series: Cirque de Triomphe [36]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Anger Management, Archnemesis, Cat Ownership, Complaining About Rescues You Don't Like, Earth-3, Gen, How Dare You Underestimate Me!, Humor, Mirror Universe, Nicknames, Nth Hammer, Rivalry, SCIENCE!, Self-Esteem Issues, Superhero Lex, Supervillain Gossip Chain, force fields, neutral versus chaotic good, though he persistently identifies as just a scientist who fights aliens, which Ultraman is bad at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieron_ODuibhir/pseuds/Kieron_ODuibhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultraman hates everything. And everybody. Especially all things that are green. Or smarter than him. Because he isn't stupid, no matter what Owlman and Luthor think.</p><p>(They should be grateful he knows that destroying the world is a terrible rhetorical device, because it means whoever you were arguing with is dead and can't admit you were right, and also you don't have anyplace to live.)</p><p>He also hates people who think they're funny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science Fiction Double Feature

Another shimmering green forcefield snapped into place, cutting off his ascent, and Ultraman bared his teeth as the rage in his chest crested. His right arm still ached from his confident attempt to punch through the first barrier. He shot off at a right angle, only to find himself cut off _yet again_ before he'd gone three miles.

A few seconds of increasingly furious course corrections later, he had realized he was in a box. One that was rapidly shrinking. The energy fields that made up each wall slid through the landscape without sign of impediment—he tried smashing his way out through a tree that seemed to have made a hole, only to find in a shower of sawdust and a new pain in his knuckles that the field was constant straight through the trunk, and sweeping ever inward. It only contained _him._

His laser vision bounced, when he tried it, clipping his cheekbone the first time and melting a hole in the highway below the second. And still he was being herded slowly back.

This stank of Luthor. Ultraman spun on the spot, X-ray vision strafing his surroundings until it landed on a familiar skeletal structure, hunched over one of his petty little machines.

He smirked. Incredible. The green walls were closing in fast, but for now the idiot genius had trapped himself _inside a box with Kal-El_.

It was too good to resist. Not that there was any reason to try. Ultraman _moved._ For the first mile, he was too fast for the human eye to register, but then, as he approached the fiddling scientist, he gave a sharp burst of speed precisely calculated to cause a sonic boom, making Luthor jerk his head up, and then slowed just enough that the bald man could see him approach.

With his perfect vision, he was able to watch Luthor's eyes widen in horror and his hands begin a panicked rush over the controls, scrabbling to save himself. Ultraman clenched his fist in preparation to shatter the fragile little force-field generator and go straight through to break every single one of Luthor's ribs. And maybe tear his spine out for good and all, this time.

The green barriers were closing in fast, but they weren't going to be there in time to stop him splattering Luthor into as many pieces as he pleased.

He watched Luthor reach toward a lever with his eyes full of the knowledge that he would be too slow, and felt a grin start across his face, and then—

And then, suddenly, he'd been knocked spinning in an explosion of pain, hard impact underwritten by the cell-searing weight that he knew as Kryptonite, and an irritating nasal voice was shrieking, " _Green button, schmucker!"_

His head bounced off a force field and it _hurt,_ more than his fists had earlier even though he'd hit with less force; he flailed briefly, recovered, and—the box had closed. He was trapped. By himself.

Outside the prison of energy, Luthor drew a slightly uneven breath and frowned at the tall, bony human whose interference had indubitably saved his life. "I...I _had_ that."

"Ahahaha! You're welcome, Lexy!"

The sulky look upgraded to a glower. "Stop calling me that!"

"Psh." Jokester, because that was _of course_ the culprit, leaned on his hammer, completely ignoring the captive Kryptonian glaring death from inside his transparent prison. "There's a billion people called Alex. Lex is _cool._ "

Everything looked green from inside the box, especially the things that actually were green. Like the clown's suit. And, yes, one of the buttons near the head of that ridiculous, awful shimmering metal hammer. He _hated_ green. When he ruled the world, the only things he would permit to be green were the ones depending on chloroplasts to live.

"Lex sounds like an asshole. Probably drives a muscle car…" The engineer's voice trailed off in distraction as his hands flew over the controls on his projector, oscillating the energy frequencies perfectly, carefully, because even the strongest static barrier would shatter before the power of Krypton. Sometimes it took a while, but it always happened. He'd learned, damn him. This was Ultraman's best chance of escaping until they'd had him locked up for a few months, and whatever lackeys they set to watching him relaxed their vigilance. His best window, and he was _helpless._ Kal slammed his fists, repeatedly, _uselessly,_ against the inside of the glowing box.

Meanwhile, the disfigured jester found Luthor's grounds for objection hilarious, and bounced a little on his toes. Ultraman contemplated twisting his head off. He might actually hate Jokester more than Luthor, in this moment. At least the scientist _took him seriously_. Most of the time. "'Kay, how 'bout just _Ex?_ You need a stage name already, fit in with the crowd better, you can be… _Scientist X!_ No, you're right, that's stupid. Doctor X? Professor X?"

Luthor squinted up from his instruments long enough to pull an aggrieved expression. "What is it with you and paring people's names down into single letters? Is one of your pet names for Harlequin ' _R?'_ "

"No, but maybe it should be! _Arrrh,_ " Jokester repeated _in a pirate voice_ , and Ultraman's struggles paused for a split second the better to glare resentment in the clown's direction, for making his latest defeat into a scene of total absurdity. His eyes glowed dimly, but red beams failed to materialize—the Kryptonite exposure had been brief, but he was not yet recovered. The green force field was filtering out enough sun that it would take a long time to get back his strength. And by then he'd probably have been cast into the latest government-sanctioned deep pit.

His failure to summon his searing vision annoyed _Luthor_ , of all people, because it compromised the obtainable data about the effectiveness of the force field cage. He muttered to himself about it as he continued to tweak the projector settings.

"Nah," concluded the clown, still preoccupied with nicknames, "she's got Q all sewn up already. _Janus_ for R though, maybe; I can hardly call him _J._ No, wait, _V!_ Hee!"

Luthor snorted over his work, he and Ultraman united in opinion for once, and the vigilante humorist rolled both eyes and arranged himself languidly against the nearest tree with folded arms. "Look, X-man, you shouldn't've given me a hammer with a 'Kryptonite' setting if you didn't want help with the big guy."

"Well, obviously that's why I gave it to you. I just hadn't _asked_ for help _today._ "

"Aww, don't be a control freak, old bean."

"I'm a _scientist_. If something unexpected enters an experiment, it's automatically an error because it will confuse the results. And I can't afford errors around him."

As if he hadn't made a nearly-fatal one today. Ultraman sneered perfect disdain in Luthor's direction. No, he was definitely back to loathing Luthor most. He had let himself sink until his feet were braced on the bottom of the energy cube, and now gathered all the strength still in his body and threw it all into one rocketing _punch_.

Both heroes ignored the resulting flash of light. _Ignored._

Ultraman rubbed his twinging hand bones and stood still, glaring. Well, let them ignore him then. It was possible the only chance of escape relied on his nemesis making another stupid mistake. Being underestimated was useful.

He just _hated_ it.

"Unless you've got somebody around to bail you out," Jokester had retorted, spinning his precious oversized weapon, and Luthor's shoulders sagged slightly. _Hah_ , Kal thought, _busted_. Luthor had gotten so caught up in the science he'd let common sense fall by the wayside, and he knew it.

"Thanks," the bald human muttered gracelessly, and evidently deciding his manual oscillation trials had gathered enough data now to calibrate the machine to work without him, he straightened up from his dials and switches and fixed the clown with an expectant look. "Now, what do you want?"

"I can't just have stumbled on you by coincidence?"

"In the Maryland countryside? No. Why are you here?"

"Well, I had this _spiritual intimation_ that a charming hero with dashing good looks was required to save the day, and since you're a little lacking in the charm department…"

Luthor laughed. "Shut up."

"You're not provin' me wrong here, X."

With another snort, this one amused in spite of himself, Luthor went back to his instruments, rapidly shuffling the power couplings and projector points into a new configuration that seemed designed to reduce the truck-sized field projector to a small mobile unit. The force fields, to Ultraman's ire, remained stable, though he was exerting steady pressure against them with his palms, searching for weaknesses. "Really, though," Luthor said. "What's up?"

Jokester hesitated until Luthor had finished reconfiguring his machine and lifted it carefully in both hands, leaving behind the complex array of power generator and positional computation which must have allowed him to shape the initial giant trap. He'd at least thought ahead to what happened after the trap succeeded, even if the middle of the plan had been so fuzzy.

 _How was it_ that a human whose only ability worth bragging about was his intellect could make such an _idiotic mistake,_ and _still_ defeat him? (Sometimes Kal worried that Owlman was right, in what he never quite said outright: that his father would have been ashamed if he'd lived to see what he'd made of himself. Jor-El had been a brilliant scientist, after all, and no matter what he did he could never—quite— _keep up_.)

Jokester's manner was airy and unconcerned in a way that Ultraman suspected meant he was talking about something important. It was possible that Owlman's most persistent nuisance was _even more annoying_ than his own, even if less effective. Next time they met, he might grant the masked man that point. The clown tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What do you know about human experimentation?"

Luthor very nearly dropped the machine, fumbled, secured his grip again (to a mental chorus of curses from his prisoner), and eyeballed the Jokester. "Was that an accusation?"

"Wha—? No. It's...we've got somebody who's been experimented on, and his body's weird enough…Strawman only does neurology and Ivy does all kinds of experimental biology but she doesn't work with animals, so…." He shrugged. "I know you mostly do mechanical engineering type stuff, but I figured if you couldn't help us yourself, you could recommend somebody."

Luthor's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What sort of modifications has he had?"

The clown paused for a second to glance at the imprisoned Kryptonian, and shrugged. "Guess it's all common knowledge at this point. Super-healing, basically. Defies physics along with biology, but not completely—we've seen him grow back a whole hand without taking the mass from anywhere we can tell, but turns out blood loss makes him really, really thirsty."

The furrow between Luthor's brows that said he'd been fully engaged by a problem _should_ represent an opportunity for escape or other advantage, but Ultraman couldn't be happy about it because he was still _right here;_ how could Luthor be focused on something else _already?_ Kal hoped he tripped on a tree root. "Are you _sure_ he's not taking the mass from elsewhere in his body? He could strip a lot from his bones and muscles and even organ reserves before it became obvious to the naked eye."

"Well, we haven't _chopped bits off him_ and then put him on a scale to see if his weight goes up when he heals," Jokester shrugged. "And you don't get to, either. Can you help us out, or not?"

"First, that's human experimentation and I have no intention of doing it," Luthor retorted, waspish. He set the field-projector in the bed of the truck and stepped back, ending Kal's hope that his distraction. "For the second, I'll see what I can do."

Kal had now tested every inch of his prison for weakness. The shrunken machine was doing its job too well.

So Ultraman slammed his palm against the inside of his prison again, not in an escape attempt this time but to get the heroes' attention. They must have sensed the difference, because after all these minutes of flagrantly ignoring him, this time it worked. "Talon," he stated, once they looked over. A grin starting at Owlman's expense. "You stole _Talon_."

Jokester huffed. "He's a _person,_ you can't _steal_ him. But yeah. He's with us now. What, it didn't get onto the supervillain grapevine yet?"

Ultraman shook his head. Not that anyone except occasionally Dash, or Owlman when he wanted something, ever sought him out for conversation—all too scared of his power and his willingness to use it—but he was fairly sure even the gossips didn't know this yet. He was the world's most accomplished eavesdropper, after all.

Too bad it would probably have blown over by the time he escaped; he'd love to be able to go to Gotham and hold this over Owlman's head. A _second_ one in less than four years, and this one actually _defecting to the enemy?_ Let's hear him lecture about 'control' _now!_

The Jokester laughed. It had a different note of triumph than the one it had hit as he unleashed his Kryptonite hammer. Kal wasn't sure whether it sounded more or less crazy. "I can't wait 'til it gets out," he said with relish.

Sadly, the clown could probably wait _enough_ that he wouldn't even consider letting Ultraman go so just he could spread gossip.

As if this tinge of resignation had been mentally projected straight into his shiny bald skull, Luthor finally turned back toward Ultraman, sought out his eyes. Kal made them glow red, and otherwise maintained a grim expressionlessness. He had dignity, even if no one else here did. "I'm going to knock you unconscious now," the scientist announced levelly. "When you wake up, you should be in federal custody again. Your previous appeal of your case will probably need to be refiled after this new series of crimes."

Ultraman narrowed his eyes. Luthor's perpetual need to make a show of his pretended _legitimacy_ , as if _any_ relationship with his human government would give him _any_ right to control Kal-El…it never failed to grate. The clown laughed. "He doesn't care, X," he pointed out. "Any more than I do when Owlface sics the cops on _me._ "

Luthor heaved a sigh and set down an odd, bulbous device that scampered forward on tiny legs until it was directly under Ultraman's cage. "He's the one who makes this personal," he declared, and the little device fired upward a tube that passed effortlessly through the bright green force field and emitted a high-pressure burst of equally green gas in the half-second before Ultraman crushed it between his fingers.

He locked his teeth and refused to breathe in. He could wait for _hours_.

"Why's it a tube?" the Jokester asked, watching him thoughtfully. "Why not, I dunno, a dart? If he crushed that the gas would come _out_ , right?"

"He could throw that out again," Luthor shrugged. Ultraman jerked sharply on the tube, hoping to gain the entire crawling device as a missile, but Luthor had prepared for that, and all he got was a length of flexible plastic tubing.

He threw it at Luthor's face anyway. Anything was a deadly weapon if it hit hard enough.

The tubing stopped hard against another, invisible force field, two feet from Luthor's face.

"It's not an inhalable, you know," Luthor informed him. Just in time for Kal to feel a fuzziness starting to seep in around the corners of his vision.

Through the skin? It was impervious! Except to certain radiation signatures. Small enough molecules might be permeating through the mucous membranes, and he closed his eyes to cut that avenue off. It also spared him from having to look at Luthor's smug, bland face, or the clown's hideous grin. Or the darkness that continued closing in.

Frustration bit sour at the back of his throat. Here he went, again. Weeks or months in whatever holding pen the government had knocked together _this_ time. It was never enough. He would _always_ get out. And then he would make them pay. "Just wait, Luthor," he gritted out. "I won't let you off easy next…time…."

It was a good thing his Fortress was automated enough that he didn't have to worry about who would feed his cat.


End file.
